[stimpy]

"Here's a little ditty I tossed off last night…"

Power Shot

DISCLAIMER: All characters herein, while some may bear a superficial resemblance to real people for the purpose of humor, are purely fictional.

Maria awoke with a hangover.  This was not altogether surprising, since she capped off her evening at the charity ball with a wild night of drinking and dancing (mostly drinking) at the exclusive after-party.  Her hazy memory fixed on … what’s his name… the power forward for the Knicks.  Nice guy, but he should have known better than to challenge a Russian to a vodka drinking contest.  She wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him out of action tonight with “flu-like symptoms.”  Still, that didn’t help her predicament, as she was quickly reminded when her soft chuckle set off a cascade of pain across her forehead.  So much for “premium vodka” being headache-free. 

The throbbing was amplified by a knock at her door. 

“Maria!  Your workout starts in 15 minutes!”

It was Sergei, her trainer.  He had been selected personally by the President to keep Maria in top shape and, most importantly, to keep her winning matches.  After all, victory in sports is an important aspect to National Prestige.  In any event, he was unlikely to sympathize with her rough night last night.

“Come on! Get out of bed!  You aren’t going to win the U.S. Open by just looking pretty, you know!”

Maria sat up with a groan and rubbed her blue, bloodshot eyes.  She stretched out her legs until the tips of her toes just touched the edge of the bed, and then slowly dragged herself out of bed.  She staggered into the bathroom and gazed at herself in the mirror.  At least this hotel room had mirrors high enough so she didn’t have to stoop – at well over 6 feet tall, this was a common complaint of hers.  That, along with the beds being too short, and the doorways being too low when she wore her high heels.

“What a wreck,” she thought, as she examined the lipstick smeared across her cheek and her short blond hair matted in irregular cowlicks across her head.  She quickly washed her face, stared at her hair for a few seconds, then shook her head and wandered over to the closet to fetch her workout clothes, sunglasses… and a baseball cap. 

She didn’t remember much about the limo ride, more or less an endless stream of Sergei berating her for being out too late and ignoring duty to her country, interspersed with vague references to Siberia (which sounded great to her; she could use a trip home).  Finally, they arrived at Dave’s Gym, a little-known and exclusive celebrity fitness center on Central Park West.  The morning workout would start off with weights and cardio.

“Sergei, I don’t much feel like lifting weights today,” Maria complained, “I’m not feeling so well.  Can we just go straight to the tennis court?”

Sergei resumed his limo sermon.  “Don’t be ridiculous, you silly spoiled girl!  You must have strength and stamina if you want to win.  Do you think you can drink all night, then just walk on the court and beat that dreadful American girl?  She will beat you because she’s faster than you.  She will beat you because she is much stronger than you.  And furthermore, she will beat you because she isn’t hung over!”

Maria rolled her eyes and glared down at Sergei.  “MUST you refer to Serena that way?  And it’s not like she’s exactly a nun either, you know.”

“But she, unlike you, knows when she is in training!  You will not disgrace your country because of vodka!  You are now forbidden from leaving your hotel room, except to work out, until the tournament is over!”

Maria sighed, muttered a Russian curse, and rubbed her head. “Whatever.”

Sergei’s anger finally faded.  He looked up at Maria and could clearly tell she was in pain.  He hesitated with an odd expression on his face, but only for a moment.  He reached into his briefcase and produced a syringe.  “But before we start, I give you something for your hangover.  An injection of B-Complex vitamins should clear up that headache of yours.”

Maria started to protest, but her slowed reflexes were no match for Sergei.  He quickly grabbed her arm and inserted the needle before she could pull her arm away.  With a sigh, she held still as the liquid was injected in her vein.

Seconds later, Maria doubled over in a spasm of pain.  Her heart suddenly started to race; had she not been a professional athlete, she could well have fallen dead on the spot.  Then her heart slowed to normal and her pain was replaced by euphoria.  Her headache was gone.

“There were more than B vitamins in that, I think.  But I feel great!  Let’s get started!”

The workout went extremely well.  She made personal bests in several of her lifts, and made her fastest time ever on the treadmill.  She had a bit more trouble on the tennis court, as she noticed all of her shots were landing wide, as though she were over-hitting the ball.  At the end of the workout, while Sergei was distracted with reporters, Maria looked through his suitcase and found several more syringes filled with the wonderful hangover cure.  She grabbed a handful of them and slipped them into her workout bag.

After dinner (and after paying her bodyguard the traditional $5,000 bribe to let her give him the slip), she went back to her hotel room and got ready to go out to Club DCM, the little-known and exclusive celebrity night club on Central Park West.  She felt great, and she was going to look great tonight, too.  She picked out her favorite black sleeveless cocktail dress and slipped it on.  It was a bit tighter than she remembered, and the hem, at mid-thigh, seemed a bit higher, too.  She could’ve sworn it was just above the knee.  Not that she minded showing a bit extra leg, she thought with a wide smile. Why not give the boys a thrill?

Maria then made her way into the bathroom to prepare her hair and make-up in the mirror.  As she was applying lipstick, she noticed her lats were sticking out from the sides of her dress.  She also started a bit when she noticed her long arms were even better defined than usual – perhaps even… muscular.  Oh well, she thought, I guess that’s the price you pay when you’re in training. 

With a shrug of her broad shoulders, she reached for her hair brush and stooped to get a proper look at her shoulder-length hair.  Wait:  didn’t she just get her hair cut last week?  Oh well, it looks much better than it did this morning, that’s for sure.  No baseball cap needed tonight!

Now she was just about ready to go.  Maria struggled for a few seconds to slip on her silver shoes with the 4-inch heels, and then whirled to go.  Her headache returned as she smashed her forehead on the top of the doorway.  She cursed and rubbed her head.  She had to remember to duck through doorways when she had her heels on.  But wait… she wore 4-inch heels last night and had no problem… something was definitely not quite right.

At that moment, her cell phone rang.  It was Elena, cross as usual that Maria was taking so long.  So with that, it was off to Club DCM!

[yaracyrrah80]

I like it!

[up2nogd1]

Oh my.  Great start.  I like where this is heading. 😉

[astrosmurf]

I agree.  It's a very promising beginning.  I hope you continue it!

[stmercy2020]

LOL!  Club DCM- does he know he owns a nightclub in New York?

[ScottG]

Very promising story.  I like it alot.

[David C. Matthews]

LOL!  Club DCM- does he know he owns a nightclub in New York?

😮

;D

[Fonk]

Yum, that's clearly going to be one delicious cake when it's finished! ;D

[stimpy]

Thanks for all the kind comments, all (especially the "Club Owner"  ;D)…

Real Life (TM) has reared its ugly head… I'll see if I can add another part over the Thanksgiving weekend!  😉

[KeithXZ]

This is off to a really good start Stimpy.  Thanks for writing it!

[Author]

Posts